


The Winning Hand

by TimeWarSnapShot



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Sarah Jane Adventures
Genre: Body Horror, Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18760171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeWarSnapShot/pseuds/TimeWarSnapShot
Summary: The Corsair beats the House odds.





	The Winning Hand

The corpse of a patchwork thing sits lifelessly in the graveyard, another victim slumps nearby. It spasms suddenly, twitching madly as a faint glow creeps across its left arm. The corpse falls into the mud with a squelch, the glow burning with increasing intensity. Ancient, deliberately crude stitches burn away in an instant separating the hand from its host.  It rolls to the side, revealing a distinctive ouroboros tattooed across the wrist.

The pattern begins to move, the snake consuming its own tail endlessly. The creature begins to move, pattern doubling in response. From one angle it resembles a figure of eight, from another, infinity. The snake is still trapped in its loop, however, the trail it follows becomes increasingly complex, shrinking and spreading across the surface of the hand as the fire burns around it.

The atrophied stump bursts, thin, watery blood soaking into the ground as fresh veins emerge from within, methodically snaking their way across the ground. Muscles, fat and bone emerge soon after, warping their way through nets of veins. Slowly but surely, the creature takes shape; Rudimentary organs emerging in response to higher, unseen processes. A brain forms, seconds later it is flooded with memories, the creature cannot place them.

It stands, translucent skin tearing with the effort. It regards the patchwork corpse with unblinking eyes and takes another laborious step forward. Its left-hand remains unchanged, looking as alien as it did on the patchwork creature. It is the only part of the creature that suggests any sort of life, any sort of history. Its task done, the ouroboros has reverted to its original form.

The creature stumbles forward, emerging into the graveyards exterior as one of its lungs collapse. It is surrounded by the hollowed out remains of the place’s other victims. It shrieks, mouth tearing open to reveal toothless gums. Another step forward sees its organs begin to fail, one more and its twin hearts rupture. It smashes forward landing in a shallow pool of water. The short, painful life of the ninth Corsair comes to an end.

For a while, the body is still, gently floating in the brown water with a peace it never knew in life. Soon it begins to glow, the previous form sacrificing itself to ensure there was enough for the process to begin naturally. It judders and shifts, the flames burning with an array of colours as it reshapes itself. The hand burns away, replaced by a younger alternative that no longer possesses the ouroboros, the skin is dark and healthy.

The man remains floating for a few seconds, the confusion caused by the process eclipsing any awareness that he is drowning. Things click into place and he forces himself upright, standing ankle-deep in the pool. He remembers the pain he was in only seconds ago, but the sensation itself is little more than a distant afterthought. He takes a deep breath, smiles broadly and lets out a bellowing laugh. He can hardly believe it worked. A quick glance confirms the tattoo has vanished and he begins to search his body for it. He finds it settled across a smooth, featureless stomach, a new hue of red tinting the snake’s scales. He spares a brief thought for whatever poor fool donated the energy to kick-start the process and emerges from the pool.

The place feels empty now, absent of the hostile intelligence that had once claimed his life. The Corsair wonders if it was ever aware of the trick he had hidden under his sleeve, but ultimately decides he doesn’t care. The hurdle that was his untimely death now cleared, he begins to process his next steps.

The situation is bleak -marooned in a lifeless bubble universe with no immediate means of escape- but hardly unsalvageable. His mind is already abuzz with potential escape plans; Learning the formulas for doors, praying for help from the higher forces who occasionally made use of his skills, assembling a life raft from the dead timeships, or perhaps even using them to build a crude labyrinth to breach the underside of the universe proper.

One of them will surely work, and if not he decides he can always settle down here and open a shop.


End file.
